Sweet 'n' Sour | ✔

twenty-three

23. khushnaseeb (lucky)

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- priya -

Life was rather monotonous for me.

I had been working since I was seventeen. I worked several different jobs, part-time, full-time, and even drove cabs until five in the morning because my college started at eight, and completing 70% of the hours allotted to you as per your schedule was compulsory to be eligible to sit for exams.

I met so many people in the short span of my thirty years, of different age groups, caste, skin, ethnicity, and personality. Some kind, some humble, some bad, some worse, some absolutely evil. My experience with most men was the worst. I know, "not all men", but it was enough for me to distrust all of them. I remember taking late-night fares, some regular patrons I had begun to open up to, and some well-dressed, gentleman-looking men who asked me intimate questions, pried into my personal life, and loudly wondered why I, being a woman, have to do this job. Some offered me extra money, some offered me an opportunity to extend my services, and some just plainly refused to accept a no. I was able to work in the cab services for six months. I was hoping to keep the job until my year ended because the money and tips (guilty pleasure) though I knew they were just trying to shoot their shot, were helping me get through the tough times. Alas, the more men I refused, the more complaints piled up on my profile and I was served with a resignation letter immediately.

In the beginning, my parents' demise was an emotional phase. I cried, blamed myself, and cried some more. But later on, it transformed into a financial crisis phase. My dad's side family was never really a part of our lives, so they never bothered with us. Mom had a great relationship with Uncle Mohan while growing up, and we were a lot closer to him than anyone else in the family too, so when he volunteered to take us home with him, no one said a word. Preeti was a kid back then, so she had the luxury to cry for mom and dad, eat, play for a while and when their absence struck, cry once again. I didn't have the same luxury. Aunt Ragini never said it, but I knew an unwanted addition to her family wasn't welcomed. Fair enough. No one would like to handle someone else's kids. I'm honestly grateful to her that she never tried to get rid of us. She just tolerated us. So I tried to be as responsible as I could. I wasn't an adult, but I did the adult job. I learned how to cook, clean, sweep, sew, and basically everything a woman is supposed to do. Back then, I just wanted to help her with the household chores, but accidentally I was setting myself as a potential bride for prospective men in her sight.

When I turned sixteen, I had overheard her saying it's just two more years and I'll be married off. That was the moment I knew I had to make them depend on me and not the other way around to avoid this crisis. Because I was aware, that if the time comes and I'm still a burden on them, I'll be nothing but a to-do task on their list.

It took me ten years to reach where I'm today. Ten years. And in those ten years, I made sure my priorities never deterred from Jalsa and Preeti. Because except for Preeti, I had no one to truly call a family, and except for Jalsa, nothing would be able to bring food on my plate. I had invested all my savings, my parents' provident funds, fixed deposits, insurance money, our old house, and absolutely everything in my company. And Preeti had trusted me with it. She never questioned, never demanded, never asked for an explanation. She let me do all that I wanted, risks included, and simply trusted me with it. I knew I was jeopardizing both of our futures with my fever for entrepreneurship, but I had lived so many years depending on others that I was desperate and force-driven.

Fortunately, it worked out. A little late, after millions of struggles and bumps, but it did. And hence, work was my life and I never felt guilty for it.